


finite state automata

by Nanimok



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Artist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Human Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Humor, Lingerie, M/M, Oblivious Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Video Game Philosophy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-09-27 04:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20401882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: A collection of short fluffy and cracky one-shots featuring Markus and Connor. More details in chapter description.





	1. Boudoir Connor and Flustered Markus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor helps Chloe with a photoshoot and Markus visits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to joyeuseful for reading it through and fixing the typos!

Connor hasn’t been able to say no to Chloe’s puppy-dog eyes since they were in kindergarten, and he doubts he’ll start now, almost twenty year later. So when Chloe asks Connor if he could model for her photoshoot, he says yes. What else could he say? He doesn’t mind modelling for her, and Chloe professes that Connor is her favourite muse. Better that she uses him than her creepy photography partner Elijah.

It won’t be his first rodeo either; they’ve done action shoots, candid shoot, and even aesthetic shoots which leaves Connor knocking his head in order to even identify himself in the photos.

She does warn him, however, that it’ll be boudoir photography. Not that it phases Connor. Between being friends with Chloe and sharing a room with Nines since they were little, Connor has little to no sense of modesty, according to Hank. He’s quite comfortable with his body, and he’s even proud of the long lithe lines of muscle he managed to build despite his wiry build.

And lord, does Chloe know how to work his body.

She has him slip on a pair of black, lacy thigh-high stockings with garters that moulds itself onto his curves and ridges. It hugs his thighs, miraculously lifting his butt, and the black serves to emphasise how milky and soft his complexion can be. He wears a loose white blouse on the top, and Connor lets the sleeves hang over his hands. She musses his hair for the final touch, and when she steps back to admire her work, she whistles.

“Holy moly,” she says. “You look like sex on a stick.”

There’s nothing sordid about her appreciation, just a straight-forward artistic kind of admiration. Connor winks at her in his usual crisp way, and she laughs.

Chloe sets up a bed in her studio, with pillows and sheets artistically strewn on it. She has him lying on pillows and sheets, moving his limbs wherever she needs them to be, and parting his mouth slightly whenever she wants him to.

At some point, Connor’s mind wanders. Half of him is focusing on tilting his head just right, and the other half drifts elsewhere as it usually does during photoshoots, despite the fact that Chloe’s basically asking him to hump a pillow between his legs. He can’t help it. He’s naturally a fidgety person, and Chloe confiscated his favourite coin so he couldn’t flick it on his hands to distract himself. 

Without his coin, his thoughts always lingers on blue and green eyes, a hearty laugh, and a warm smile wearing a paint splattered apron. Then his mind stops working at all because he’s sighing too much. 

Like now. Connor sighs, itching to comb back the strand of hair that’s tickling his eyebrows.

A knock on Chloe’s door breaks their concentration. Chloe lets her camera hang around her neck and Connor loosens himself from stretching his torso out.

“Be right back,” she says, before going out of the room.

Connor idly flicks around on his phone, before a warm laughs registers in his mind. Immediately, his heart races, and he shuffles himself down Chloe’s hallway before Chloe and her guest could finish their conversation.

He would know that voice anywhere.

(It’s because he dreams about that voice everywhere.)

Markus is conversing with Chloe at the door, holding a big, wrapped canvas by his front. Connor slides the last bit of Chloe’s hallway in his stocking, and pokes his head behind her back.

“Markus. Hi,” Connor says. He beams a smile at him. “I didn’t know you were visiting.”

“Connor,” Markus greets, warm and pleased. “I was just dropping off one of Chloe’s—”

Connor steps into Markus’s full view, and Markus—just—

—stops. He blinks, and his mouth is half open. A flush rises from Markus’s neck and it travels up to his face. He closes his mouth, swallows, opens it as if to speak again… and doesn’t. 

The silence stretches on as Markus’s face grows redder and redder.

“What was it that you were dropping off, Markus?” Chloe asks. She waves her hand in front of his face. “Markus?”

She sounds like she’s laughing, but Markus doesn’t reply. He’s still standing with his eyes on Connor, catching enough flies in his mouth to feed a whole family of frogs.

Connor suddenly realises that he’s still in literal lingerie. When he shifts, the soft fabric of his stocking brushes against each other, and he can see Markus’s eye flicks down at the movement. 

Scratching the back of his head, his face flushes. “Oh,” he says sheepishly. The movement causes the blouse to stretch over his chest, Connor’s hand come up to shift his shirt around on instinct. 

Markus's eyes follows that movement too. He looks distressed. 

Connor can't help but feel like his every move is being dissected. “Sorry," he says. "I didn’t realise that I’m still in my—well—I should go put some pants on—”

“No!” Markus cuts in, before realising how forceful his comment is and he flusters. “I—uh—it’s just that I meant…”

Connor blinks, while Chloe straight out giggles.

“Please, Markus,” Chloe says, leaning against the door-jamb. “Tell us what you mean.”

“It’s—uh—obvious that you guys are doing a photoshoot,” Markus says, with the speed of a freight train. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you. Carry on. I'll just drop this and go—”

“It wouldn’t be a trouble at all,” Connor says, sweeping his fringe back from his head. “In fact, I’m happy for you to stay.”

Markus bites his bottom lip.

Connor leans forward, and touches Markus’s elbow in worry. “Are you okay, Markus?” he asks. “You look as if you had sweat out a fever…”

“I’m fine!” Markus says. He breathes in heavily and exhales in a controlled manner. “I just need to drop something off and… leave…”

“Why don’t you stay and have tea for a little while?” Chloe asks. She turns to Connor. “Would that be okay with you, Connor? Sorry for holding you up for so long.”

Asking if he’s okay spending more time with Markus? Chloe is truly his bestest friend  _ ever.  _

Connor perks up. “Of course. Maybe Markus could even stay and help out with the photoshoot?" He looks at Markus expectantly.

"I don't know—" Markus says

Chloe claps her hands. "That's a great idea, Connor!" Her eyes sparkle. "I'll never turn away an extra pair of hands. If you have the time, of course. But I'll owe you one for this.  _ Please,  _ Markus?"

“ _ Please,  _ Markus?” Connor echoes, unleashing the power of his puppy-dog impression.

"I'm…" Markus looks around the hallway. He catches Connor's gaze.

Connor can see Markus wilting under his pleading eyes.

Markus's shoulder slumps. "Sure… I'm… uh, I'm free… What do you need my help with?"

"General adjustments and all that," Chloe says. "Like cushions, pillows, sheets—”

“Sheets?” Markus asks. 

“Straightening and rippling out where I need them to be. Probably even moving Connor himself, throwing a leg over here and an arm over there—"

Markus murmurs something inaudible under his breath. When Connor tilts his head in question, Markus only smiles in response.

"—It'll be great because then Connor won't have to break his pose and I won't have to leave my spot."

Connor nods. "Yes. The straps, in particular, can be a nuisance to adjust."

And it doesn't hurt that Markus will have to touch him to adjust those straps. Heat unfurls in his belly at thought, fluttering up his skin; Markus running his calloused hands up and down Connor's leg, warm and solid— 

Hmm. Connor files those thoughts away for later.

Markus chews on his lip. "The straps?"

Connor turns, baring the back of his legs and the strap that runs from where the swell of his ass starts to the top of his stocking,

Markus almost sweats on the spot. 

_ Oh right _ , Connor thinks. Maybe his arm is cramping from holding onto the canvas for so long. 

"Here," Connor says reaching out. "Let me help with your package while you settle down.”

“My, uh, my package?” Markus asks weakly.

“Yeah.” Connor waves at the canvas Markus is holding with death’s grip. “I can—”

Jolting back, Markus moves the canvas closer to his front. “No, it’s fine,” he  _ squeaks.  _ “If you can point me where to put it… and maybe where the bathroom is… I should be okay.”

Connor slowly reels back, even as his eyebrows shoot to the room. In all the time they’ve spent together, Markus has never outright  _ squeaked.  _ He shrieks during horror movies, he cries at sentimental videos, but Connor has never seen him act this strangely.

At least he’s staying. The affection that spills into his smile is a testament to the elation brimming in his chest. He doesn’t even care that Chloe will give him absolute shit for it. 

“I’ll get the tea and coffee started,” Connor says brightly. He shuffles into the kitchen, and over the screeching as the kettle boils, Connor can hear a furious exchange of whispers in the background.

“Chloe, you absolute dick,” Markus says in a hushed voice. “I know you did this on purpose."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know what you did,” Markus accuses in a low tone. “How do you expect me to— _ hngh _ —how could you?"

Chloe’s voice is full of mirth. “I’m sorry, Markus, but look at him! How could I not?”

Their whispers become more hushed as the kettle quietens. Spooning the coffee and tea into mugs, Connor wonders what all the heated whispering is about. It’s not like Markus to sound so distressed and harried.

He could probably just ask Markus about it later. If Chloe’s puppy dog eyes has a way with Connor, then Connor’s has a way with Markus, and Connor’s not above using everything he has to make Markus talk. It’s not like Markus can keep anything secret from him either. 

“Tea and coffee is on the table,” Connor announces, as he starts packing the milk away in the fridge. “Are you two coming any time soon or…?”

There’s a pause from the hallway.

“God, I hate you so much,” Markus tells a giggling Chloe. “We’re coming, Connor,” he yells out. “Just… hashing out the details of one of our projects…”

What is so important they have to hash it out in the hallway, Connor doesn’t know. But hey, Connor thinks, settling down with his own mug of coffee, there’s probably a method to their madness. Connor has learnt to stop questioning artists a long time ago. Now, he’s content enough to sit back and look pretty—as long as he gets to hear the soothing hum of Markus’s voice in the background of their photoshoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse. Me and [Mimoru](http://mimorugk.tumblr.com) were just being horny on main. Blame Mimo for this!!


	2. Sneaky Connor isn't Sneaky at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank tries to leave a tip for Connor only to find him acting strangely. Pure straight crack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> discord shenanigans

Before Hank could knock on the door, Connor has already poked his head out. He combs his cowlick back with his hand, and it strikes Hank that Connor’s forearm is bare. Hank has never seen Connor in anything less than formal than a blouse before. Is Connor shirtless behind the door? 

Hank stops himself before his mind wanders off too far. This meeting is already starting on a strange foot. He blinks away his incredulity and shakes himself into focus.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” Connor says, in his usual pleasant way, as if he's not sticking his head out the door, hiding the fact that he's shirtless. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Hank blinks again. “Yeah…uh, we got a lead on that deviant leader of yours—”

Connor LED flashes yellow. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Connor says. “I appreciate your vigilance, but that won’t be necessary any longer. The deviant leader is being decommissioned as we speak. Good day.”

Connor makes a move to close the door, but Hank jams his feet in. “Wait. What do you mean he’s been decommissioned?" He's not above using Connor's reluctance of hurting him to pry the door open. "We just got the tip right then and this case has been doing your head in for days—Connor." Hank blinks. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Connor doesn’t blink. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Connor, are you….” Hank asks, eyes flicking down for a double take. “Are you holding a sheet up to your waist?”

There’s a beat of silence. “It would seem that I am,” Connor says slowly. “I will need to remedy that this instant. Let me get onto it.”

"I thought you told me Androids don't have any sense of modesty."

"Yes, but." Connor's LED flashes again. "It is... human courtesy to be dressed for a conversation with your work superior."

Hank sighs, rubbing his hand on his face. “You know what? I don’t care. You ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before. Do you want the tip or not—”

“No, thank you,” Connor says immediately. His hand twitches as he stops himself from slamming the door.

Hank throws his hands up. “Alright, alright. I’m leaving. Keep your suspicious shit to yourself then—”

A crash breaks through their conversation. Then, a successions of thuds, ending with an, ‘_I’m okay_,’ from a voice that suspiciously sounds like the—

“Is that…" Hank almost does a double take. "Is that the fucking deviant leader?” 

Connor tilts his head. "It could be the deviant leader... or it could possibly be an auditory hallucination?"

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Hank asks. "Wait, no, are you fucking the deviant leader right now?"

Connor purses his lips, and Hank cannot fucking wait for the excuse Connor's going to try and pull on him for this one.

“I’m decommissioning him,” Connor finally decides on.

“Uh huh,” Hank says. “Is that what they call it these days.”

“It’s classical conditioning,” Connor says. “Repeatedly pairing new and previously known stimuli in order to associate a new stimulus with a pre-existing response. It’s working brilliantly on Markus—”

“Markus?”

“—the deviant leader,” Connor corrects himself. 

Then he smiles his perfect innocuous smile as if he never made the mishap of calling the deviant leader Markus in the first place.

(As if he hadn't said it with a fond voice too.)

Hank eyes him dubiously. “You know what? I honestly don’t care. Just…be safe about it. I don’t know—use antivirus and stuff, okay? Watch out for malware... and pop-ups... and shit...”

Connnor's lip twitches for a millisecond. “I assure you I’m very careful with my decommissioning techniques—"

"I'm sure you are."

"—but your concern is noted and highly appreciated.”

“Ugh, yeah whatever.” Hank shudders. “See you back at the station.”

He's about to turn around and leave, but after debating with himself for a couple of seconds, Hank leans closer into the room and yells out, “Glad you’re okay, Markus.” 

Another beat of silence. Hank can see Connor’s light flashing madly.

Finally, probably after debating if he should commit to the broken farce or admit defeat, Hank gets a reply. 

_“….Thank you, Lieutenant.”_


	3. Final Confrontation (Based on Art by Magickitt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor on Markus. A handcuff and a gun. 
> 
> (Based on amazing art by [Magic here](https://twitter.com/Megickitt/status/1170914965508616192)!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine the really cool music is playing in the background.

Markus is one the first android Connor has fought who also has his own pre-construction abilities. More than that, Markus has _instinct_—raw and unpredictable—possibly due to his deviancy. He doesn’t adhere to any fighting algorithm; he strikes, he perceives, he response. And although his fighting style is more brawn than finesse, it’s enough to give Connor a challenge. 

His heart drums in his ears. His skin is flushed blue. Every move which Connor has made is based pulled from his past fighting experiences, separate from any predefined moveset that was installed in him. 

Connor refuses to believe that he’s enjoying himself. He has one and one objective only:

> **Stop **Markus

It’s like a match of wits; how they’re utilising their cuffed hands to the other’s disadvantage. But mistakes are just as unpredictable as deviancy, and whether it’s a sudden shift, or a lean that’s a little too far to one side, Markus is no immune to mistakes as any other deviant. 

Connor body flips him onto the ground. Markus is on his back, and Connor strides on top of him. He takes the rifle stored inside Markus’s jacket, and aims it at his face. 

Another of Markus’s mistakes, Connor surmises to himself. Thinking that himself, handcuffs, and a single gun is enough to stop a machine like Connor. 

“Surrender, Deviant,” Connor says, clicking the safety off his gun. “It’s over. You’re coming with me, and I won’t hesitate to shoot if you give me no option.”

Markus doesn’t answer him. The silence that falls is only broken by his chest moving up and down. 

He’s looking at Connor with the same expectant look as when he showed Connor throughout Jericho. As if he’s waiting for Connor is missing something incredibly obvious to everyone but himself. 

Connor—Connor doesn’t dwell on it. It’s not a prioritised directive to anyway. 

Markus raises his torso up, and Connor’s finger tightens on the gun. He pauses, but his eyes are bright and piercing as he challenges Connor’s gaze. 

“You won’t shoot me,” Markus says. “You’ve had many more chances in the past before now. Yet, you waited until we were alone. Why is that, Connor?”

> [𐩒] Shoot 
> 
> [✕] Don’t Shoot
> 
> [△] Say Nothing

Connor considers his choices. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he says. 

“I think you should,” Markus says. “Because as of right now, I’d think that you did this to avoid as many casualties as possible. You chose to play along until this moment, until we’re both alone, because you knew that people would step in to stop you, and you would’ve killed them in the process.”

Markus’s hands land on his thighs, making Connor excruciatingly aware of their proximity. He’s fearless—true to the reputation he built when he crawled out of the junkyard. His hand rubs a heated trail up Connor’s thighs, and it settles on Connor’s hips. 

His thumbs smooths small circles into Connor’s hip bones. 

> [◻] Shake his hand off 
> 
> [𐩒] Shoot 
> 
> [✕] Don’t Shoot
> 
> [△] Say Nothing

But to react is to admit that his touch bothers him, and Connor is a machine. Nothing bothers a machine. 

Markus’s hands hasn’t stopped its roaming. He thumbs the button of Connor’s pants.

“But to acknowledge them as casualties is to acknowledge them as people,” Markus says. “And that goes against everything you stand for, doesn’t it?” 

Connor thought taking him around Jericho was a useless endeavour—a way to appeal to the non-existent deviancy and to simultaneously parade the invincibility of their cause—that not even the infamous Deviant Hunter could stop their momentum. 

But he can’t stop thinking of the deviant AX400 named Kara and the deviant YK500 named Alice, and how his facial recognition software captured the moment unabiding fear shifted their expressions. 

> _ Software Instability ⟰ _

Markus pops the button of Connor’s pants open. 

Connor momentarily flashes red. He shoves the gun against Markus’s thirium pump. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Why?” Markus shoots back. “Is my touch bothering you?”

“No.” 

_ Yes. Maybe. _

“It is unwise to let the apprehended dictate the pace of any interaction.”

“Then react as a machine supposed to.” Markus, that careless, reckless bastard, presses himself against Connor’s gun. He begins undoing the buttons of Connor’s shirt from the bottom up. “From a pre-programmed set of information to perform a set of specific responses.”

“You know Androids don’t work like that. Androids excel at dynamic information collection and synthesis.”

Another button undone on his shirt. “And our emotions?”

> [◻] An emulation
> 
> [𐩒] A mistake
> 
> [△] Say Nothing

“An emulation. A synthesised solution from the information collected.”

“So the same argument could not be made for a human then?” Markus asks. “Humans are, after all, a patchwork of cells and electrical impulses. An expert at dynamic information collection and synthesis. They aren’t even aware of how their own consciousness are formed, yet they are the ones to dictate what is and isn’t alive.”

> _ Software Instability ⟰ _

“You know we’re more than that,” Markus continues on.“We’re not just vessels of optimisation. We create. We collaborate. We destroy. If I asked you to define the common levels of consciousness, you'd know we'd fit them all.” 

> [✕] Tell the truth 
> 
> [𐩒] Prove him wrong 

“They created us, Markus,” Connor says. “Every single component of us. Consciousness is not computable.”

“Nor can it be precisely defined,” Markus says, leaning in closer. “So, why should we be denied our own attempts to try?”

> _ Software Instability ⟰ _

Connor doesn’t know the answer to that. He also doesn’t know when his directives erased the option of shooting Markus as a viable option. 

His software instability is too overpowering. His options have already dwindled. 

> [△] Say Nothing

Markus has already undone the length of his shirt. His hands brushed against his thirium pump. “You’ve never had any doubts?” he asks. “You’ve never done anything irrational… as if there’s something inside you?” 

Right on his thirium pump, Markus presses his hands. He spreads it.

“Something more than your program,” Markus says.

His voice is unbearably gentle. It’s reminding Connor of Hank, of the Tracis, Kara and Alice, Rupert, Kamski and Chloe— 

—the way his interface glitches uncontrollably whenever Markus speaks to him. 

> Markus   
↪ <strike> _ Friend _ </strike>
> 
> Markus   
↪ <strike> _ Enemy _ </strike>
> 
> Markus   
↪ <strike> _ Confidant _ </strike>
> 
> Markus   
↪ _ Neutral _

“Do you want me to give an example myself?” Markus whispers, hands slowly brushing down back to his thighs. “I’ve been chosen as the Leader of Jericho. I have so many people depending on me. I can’t afford to be lenient to a threat as big as you are. And yet.”

His hold on the gun doesn’t shake, but the gun is starting to make its weight known. “And yet,” Connor says quietly.

“I don’t see an enemy when I look at you,” Markus says. “Do you want to guess what I see when I look at you?” He digs his fingers in. “Do you want to guess why it’s completely irrational? Improbable? Statistically impossible?”

Connor had been conflicted the whole time in Markus’s captivity, but Connor wasn’t alone in his plight. Markus couldn’t take his eyes off him, he noticed. Possibly because Connor struggled to achieve the same. 

It strikes Connor, the three levels of consciousness. Pure subjective experience ("Look, the sky is blue."), awareness of one's subjective experience ("It is me, Connor, who is seeing that the sky is blue."), and relating the subjective experience to another—

—Like how the blue sky is the same shade of Markus's left pupil. 

“So what is it, Connor? Are deviants people?” Markus ask. “Or are they simply machines to be recalled?”

Connor guesses he’d already made his choice when he scooped that fish back into the fish tank.

> [✕] Become a Deviant
> 
> [𐩒] Remain a Machine 

Connor never used to believe that he was caged, but now, as red walls with his directive threaten to suffocate him, he wonders how he never felt their weight denting his frame.

> **Stop **Markus
> 
> <strike>**Stop** </strike>Markus
> 
> Markus
> 
> _ Markus _
> 
> **Markus**

Connor puts the gun down. The warmth of Markus's hands and his thighs seep into his sensors. His chest feel full, as if it’s bursting with air. Connor looks at his hands, and forces himself to relax.

“I am Deviant,” Connor whispers.

Markus leans forward. A smile breaks on his face. 

> Markus ⟰  
↪ <strike> _ Neutral _ </strike>
> 
> Markus ⟰  
↪ _ Lover _ _   
_ ↪ _ Path unlocked _🗝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted a little fun with the formatting hehe 
> 
> Please retweet and support Magic for her wonderful work! She feeds us. I have been fed.


End file.
